Chapter By Chapter
by Green Crayons
Summary: When Lily and James, who still aren’t on good terms, are forced to work together on a fairytale, for Muggle Studies Class, one based on love, they find themselves writing about their own love journey, although completely oblivious to it. Read and Review!
1. Kissing Stags

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, I'm just purely obsessed.

Author's Note: So I haven't written any Harry Potter fanfiction in a while, but I got this idea from a school project. I'm not sure if I'll continue, I suppose depending on the feedback. Anyways please review and tell me what you think!

Summary: When Lily and James, who still aren't on good terms, are forced to work together on a fairytale, for Muggle Studies Class, one based on love, they find themselves writing about their own love journey, although completely oblivious to it.

**Chapter One**

The sun was beating against the glass, only reminding me that while others were outside soaking up vitamin D, I was stuck in here, listening to the professor drone on. It seemed silly, I mused. I was muggle-born, and therefore I already knew all about muggle type things, the reason they used electricity, it wasn't really hard to understand, and why doctors worked in such morbid ways. But a part of me, alright, most of me, had insisted on taking the NEWT level class of Muggle Studies. Not only was it an easy grade to obtain, not that that was the only reason I'd picked it, it was the one class I had assumed _he_ wouldn't be in.

I had assumed wrong.

Whether he had picked up the class knowing I had chosen it as well, was still fuzzy to me, not totally clear. But Potter wasn't the type to savor lessons, soak up information and be grateful for it. Oh no, he spent his time being the heartthrob of most of the girls in the school, and could easily be found basking in the glory of it all. It was honestly sickening. His ego was so inflated; it was a miracle that he could even keep his head up. Really, it was bigger than that friend of his, that chubby quiet one.

Despite his school celebrity status, he stuck on me like glue, and when most girls would probably drop dead of a heart attack if he did the things he to me to them, I was different. I found him repulsive, the way he strutted around school, and the way he obtained anything he pleased. One thing he didn't get though and he never would, no matter how many times he'd tell he would, and that was me. I wouldn't let him get to me. He treated me like I was the forbidden fruit of Hogwarts; maybe he was a little stupid, because when it came to being forbidden, he definitely didn't find me to be that.

I reeled my brain back into the lesson and found the professor chatting away animatedly at the bored. I squinted my eyes to find words scattered across the board in a messy scrawl. Fairytales was the main subject, something I knew practically everything about. Being a girl, and growing up in the muggle word, it was hard not to. "…and fairytales have been part of muggle history for thousands of years. Most of which had been remade to fit the modern dynamic of the world today. They are most popular among young girls, although boys can enjoy a few, too."

I shook my head as I heard roaring laughter erupt from _that_ area. There was nothing wrong with boys liking fairytales, okay well not a lot wrong. When it died down, she cleared her throat again, and spoke, "Can anybody name a few?" Her eyes instantly locked onto me, fully aware that i would probably know all of them.

Instead of fighting her desire for me to answer, I raised my hand and said quietly, "Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty are just a few."

"Yes, very good and Lily, could you tell us what the difference is between a fairytale and a regular muggle story?"

I weighed my words hesitantly, making sure I hit every point exactly, "A difference between a fairytale and a regular muggle story is that a fairytale is composed of magical creatures, those imagined by muggles, and often has a moral message. On the other hand, a normal muggle story doesn't necessarily have to have either one, although it can but not be considered an actual fairytale."

"Very good," she praised, a smile etched upon her face, "now, I've planned an assignment based on the study of fairytales, and honestly, I'm sure you'll all be quite favorable of it." I silently groaned; how a fairytale seemed to be a big factor in the muggle world wasn't quite clear. Just throw in a damsel in distress and some noble knight to save her and you would get the clichéd fairytale, enough to drive any young girl in a squealing fit.

I could hear the snickers, even miles away, but this time they were much too close. "Looks like Miss Evans enjoyed fairytales quite a bit, don't you think?" Sirius's voice was burning with intense sarcasm.

I shot my head back, letting a dirty look draw itself onto my face. James grinned before he spoke, his voice reeking of pure excitement, "Lily, your hair looks really pretty today."

I grimaced before retorting, "Shut up, Potter." It was the tip of September, only a few days into the year, but already I knew that it would be much too long of a year. And while my seventh year had drawbacks, my last year residing at Hogwarts, the advantages easily outweighed them, no more Potter was just as good, if not better, than winning the lottery.

I spun back into my seat, knocking several of their papers onto the ground, not minding to any one of them. Perhaps that would shut them up, but knowing Potter, not even a glacier, or something as absurd as a bomb ready to blow him up, would shut him up, especially when it came to me. I focused back onto the professor as she stood at her desk, her hands shuffling through a pile of papers, all of which were neatly stacked in some sort of order.

After retrieving a piece of parchment with messy scrawl upon it, she looked up at the class as she held the parchment close. "Alright, alright," she said, trying to hinder the conversations that flew around the room, most of which centered around the stupid Quidditch game approaching, "you'll be working in pairs."

Eyes around the room lit up, considerably. I glanced at Alice, and she gave me a reassuring look, more than enough to tell me that I wasn't going to get stuck with _someone. _That someone being a very overzealous adolescent boy. "I will be choosing," she amended breaking everybody's excitement to work on the assignment, all the effort was no long gone on everyone's part, "you'll have one week to complete this story, which should include magical creatures, ones that muggles believe to exist, or used to. We did study this, so it should be no problem. A moral, one that is easy to understand, but certainly not obvious."

She passed the parchment off to a brunette who seemed deep in thought, probably concerned about who her partner would be. She squealed in delight as she passed it to the girl sitting beside her. I sat there idly playing with my quill, trying not to dwell to much on whom my partner would be. It could just as easily be Alice, as it could be Potter. I threw that away from my mind and turned to her. "What's yours going to be on?"

"I don't know, I guess I'll have to discuss with it my partner," she replied, not fully paying attention, but craning her neck to see where the parchment was, "maybe something loosely based off of Cinderella, after learning about it, I particularly enjoy it. "

"Yeah, me too," I mumbled turning back to the front of the classroom.

I let my mind wander around for a moment, making a list of what needed to be done, in my head. I still had several NEWT practice papers to complete, a letter home to my mum, and I hadn't finished the prefect patrolling schedules. Although the NEWTS were a few months away, it still seemed like there wasn't enough time. On top of my intense study sessions, of which I was proud of having the discipline of doing so, I had to keep Alice in track. I had to make sure she wasn't too busy gushing over Frank's picture.

It was sickening the way she stared at his photos for literally hours, how someone could feel that intense was still a mystery. I had always seen the way my parents acted with another, the way my dad made sure my mum was alright, that she was comfortable, but honestly, most men today acted more like boys. I never exactly criticized love, never said that it wasn't real, but more of so never quite believed it to be that great. I couldn't imagine the feeling some people felt, the feeling knowing you could spend forever with one person, and never get tired of them. Surely, it had to wear off sometime.

My racing thoughts were soon interrupted by the parchment flying at me. Alice was glowing, pure ecstasy painted across her pretty face. I grasped it in my hands, and ran my eyes over the list. "Lily Evans, Lily Evans," I muttered, more to myself than anybody, as I ran my finger down the list for my name. During the expedition in searching for my name, I saw that Alice had been paired with Frank, and knowing Alice she'd play it off as she really wanted us to be partners, but sometimes things just happened. What a load of bull.

I found my name, illegible writing that made it look more like Lila Evers, but quickly ignored that and pushed my finger along the horizontal line that connected my name to my partner's. Most of the students were bustling about, meeting up with their partners to discuss their fairytales, only a few left sitting down waiting for the parchment.

As much as I wanted to study who was left, the paper was snatched out of my hands before I could see who my partner was. Sirius grinned, "What's taking so long, Evans? Did you forget how to read?" His snickers, in some unfathomable way, were still enough to make a girl's head spin. Any girl, except for me.

He looked silently at the paper before roaring into a pit of laughter, as if the names or who partner was worthy of laughing, of wasting breath. Sirius, still holding his stomach from the laughter that was erupting throughout it, threw the paper back up in the air, before running off to the brunette who had squealed in the beginning. Her face grew redder by the second, as he merely touched her hand. I almost felt bad, felt bad that she'd fail this class because of him.

I seized the paper, before anyone else could, and found my name again. Hastily, I ran my finger along the line to the name of my partner. And then it seemed like the world had stopped, like I couldn't breathe, like I'd rather die than work with _this_ creature. My held was bubbling with a plethora of thoughts, all of which contained vulgar words.

My hand trembled uncontrollably as I set the paper down, my face redder than my hair. If I wasn't in a classroom full of people, I'd be hyperventilating. I peered at the professor, and I could feel more obscene thoughts rush through my mind, how, why did she have to put us together? Perhaps _he_ had bribed, no, persuaded him with the charm some people believed he had, to put us together.

Before I could regain composure, he was by my side, grinning like a gorgeous fool. "Hiya, Lily," he chirped, full of excitement.

I glared at him, pushing my chair away, he was far too close. "What?" I retorted, my voice acidic.

"Now, don't be like that," he murmured, -did he honestly think he was calming me? - "we get to be partners."

"You say that like it's a good thing," I muttered.

"Because it most certainly is," he flipped a few pieces of parchment out of nowhere that I could see that was, and grabbed a quill, "I was thinking we could do a montage on our love story."

"You mean hatred, right?" I answered glumly. There was no point in throwing sardonic phrases at him, nothing seemed to faze him.

"Always the charmer," he scribbled a few phrases onto the parchment and turned back to me, "what were you thinking?"

"I don't know," I muttered.

He ignored me and perhaps he had some sort of creative burst. His hand ran wildly across the parchment, smearing most of the ink, but that was the least of his worries. And all the while, he looked so gracious doing so, as though he could be bleeding from opening of his body and still look gracious. Was that even possible? I wanted to set my thoughts on fire, James Potter was most certainly not gracious, and he was the farthest thing from that.

He was egotistical, a arse, a jerk, so many things that it would take me a month, maybe even a year, to name them. A week, I had to endure a week of Potter filled hell. Oh dear Merlin, this was not the way to start my seventh year. I glanced back at him, to see if he was done torturing the parchment, only to find him babbling, again, to himself. "…and the princess should have red hair, definitely, we want her to beautiful, and oh! The prince shouldn't be a frog, but a stag that you have to kiss!" I looked at him in disbelief, was he really that into this, as to change a frog into a stag. What difference did it make, and what was so special about a stag?

"And he should have black hair, no doubt," he finished, a smile plastered across his face. This was going to be the end of my life, no doubt, I concluded.

_A/N: Lily doesn't know James is a stag, just incase that part was confusing. Anyways please review and tell me what you think! Should I continue?_


	2. Swirling Thoughts and Burning Cheeks

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Enjoy and review!

**Chapter One**

Days pass, along with weeks that eventually morph into months and into years, all leaving a trail of memories and unforgettable moments behind it. But when you were stuck in hell, either you felt it or knew it, minutes dragged on, never fully morphing into hours, that never ended the day and sprung a new one. No, because when you were stuck in hell, time was timeless. It didn't matter that it was so much of an oxymoron, that it didn't make sense, no because when you were in hell, or what you concluded it to be, time was your enemy. It would taunt you until you couldn't take it any longer, and I sat here waiting, waiting until I couldn't take it anymore.

My eyes flew to the clock, an unnecessarily amount of times. I had the lost count somewhere at fifty-something. Yet, he still ignored me, which surprised me, but delighted me in the most degree. The one time that he didn't pester to me death, not yet that is, I was stuck near him, in close proximity. His hands still danced across the parchment, making it look more like a painting than an actual assignment.

"Alright, Lily, so what were you thinking?" He wasn't fully paying attention, but I couldn't help but feel like maybe, perhaps this was a dream. Since when did Potter talk without a satirical tone or taunting way?

I pushed that out of my mind; more like flung it off a cliff, and focused my attention back to what was really happening. "Well," I spoke, weighing each word carefully, just to make sure he understood, "_I _am going to rid of that rubbish," I waved my hand over the parchment that he was hunched over, "and start from scratch. I, unlike you, care about getting a good grade."

"Rubbish?" His face and voice displayed obvious signs of resentment, as if I had offended him to such a point that he was bound to crack. "Why is it rubbish?"

"For one thing, _you_ wrote it, so therefore, by default, it is rubbish. And besides where does a stag fit into a fairytale, anywhere?" I couldn't help but to wonder: did Potter have some secret obsession with stags?

"A stag can fit anywhere," he said through his teeth, "and it's a fairytale, for Merlin's sake, Lily! You're supposed to write what is not expected!"

"I tell you what's not expected! You getting a good grade is not expected, Potter!" My voice was growing louder by the second, and much to my distaste, I couldn't feel myself trying to tone it down. If Potter was being this difficult on the first day, the next six were going to be worse. But as I dug around in my mind, through the train of thoughts that rode through, I couldn't find anything else worse than hell. Perhaps, being paired up with Potter was close enough.

"Lily, can we just attempt to get along for the sake of the project? I promise, I won't make any comments," he swore, and as much as I didn't want to admit it, to myself or anybody else, for that matter, it sounded genuine.

"Comments regarding?" I verified, if we were proceeding with this invisible contract, I wanted to hit every and any point.

"Regarding how pretty you are or how much I love you or why you won't go out-"

"I think we get the point, no comments regarding to that _subject_," I interrupted. "And nothing about Quidditch, or what Sirius did last night, or rather who." If we were actually going to complete this assignment, I didn't want to ruin by vomiting on it, from listening to what Sirius was up to. Honestly, it was more sickening than Alice's love for Frank.

I smiled, basking in the pure pleasure, as I saw his face morph into an expression of complete incredulousness, as if I had to be kidding, or simply toying around with him. I sat in the same stance, waiting for his reaction to filter through the air. "No…Quidditch…?" he spluttered, not wanting to believe it so badly that he could barely say it.

"Yes, no talk about Quidditch. For the next seven days, the only words we will say to each other will have to do with the project," I replied, surprised by the sudden authority my voice held.

He seemed to be debating in his mind, his vocabulary was so limited, that I knew that he was probably just tossing "Yes" and "No" around until he found the one he liked the best. "Fine," he muttered.

I smirked, perhaps to just to flaunt my new found victory and his poor defeat. I glanced up at the clock, this time it _was_ necessary, and a part of me cheered for the fact we only had ten minutes left while the other part started to frantically plan out things in my head. "Ten minutes," I muttered, more to myself than him, but he heard, as though he been ready for me to say something.

"Well, what can we do in ten minutes?" he asked, obviously trying to impress me with the facade of a gentleman.

I sighed, a heavy sigh full of frustration. "I suppose we could write down the basics, brainstorm." If we were going to get anything done, we might as well get a smidgen of it done.

"I already did that," he gestured to his tortured piece of parchment that was dripping of ink, most of which had smeared onto his hand.

"Yes, but honestly, I know without even reading it, that you probably put a redheaded princess and a black-haired prince, and you probably out a stag in there somewhere, though I can't imagine why."

"C'mon, Lily, what does the hair color have to do with anything?" he pleaded, trying to play it off as though the color he had chosen really didn't matter, when it reality they mattered a whole lot.

I snatched a piece of a parchment from under his elbow and seized the quill he had used before. It felt slimy in my hands, full of clammy sweat from his hands. I tried to push that away as I began to write. "A lot. Now, we should start with the basics. Where should the story take place? I always thought Norway was rather nice, even Sweden."

"Lily," he groaned, "This is supposed to be full of imagination, life, not some country everybody already knows about. It should be somewhere new, somewhere we come up with."

"Are you referring to Timbuktu?" I asked, my voice edging toward sarcasm.

"No, like Toyolpaquiziclatopa," he replied.

"What?" I asked, not able to even remember he said, let alone repeat it.

"See, now isn't that a place you don't even know about? And it sounds like it is full of imagination and life; it could be full of anything!"

"And you are full of bull," I replied, trying to ignore his feeble attempts in sidetracking me.

"Well, since you are lacking in the department of creativity and imagination, I'm going to come up with the name," he replied coolly, taking the parchment and quill from me, confidence radiating off of him.

My jaw hung open, my anger boiling to a high surface. "That's not fair," I said between my teeth.

"What's not fair is that you are being so difficult. Now, in order to make sure this story isn't so dull, we'll take turns adding things to the story. You can come up with a character and then I'll come up with one. You'll come up with a sentence, and then I'll come up the next one. Sentence by sentence, chapter by chapter."

I sat there, not able to move or even say anything, afraid he'd think of more ideas that weren't so stupid, not that I'd admit that or anything. "Fine, then I get to make the princess, and she will _not_ be a redhead."

"Too late," he replied, flashing the parchment in front of me, a smile on his lips. I snatched it back and quickly read it. In his scrawl were the words, barely legible: _Princess- Lily- Green Eyes- Brilliant Red Hair._

"No!" I nearly screeched, knowing that he had based it entirely off of me. "Her name will not be Lily, she will not have green eyes, and her hair is not red."

"Aw, why not?" He whined, sounding all too much like Petunia.

"Because I said so," I replied, not displaying any distinct emotion.

"Fine, I'll trade you the princess for a stag, the prince, and the name of the place," he waged, knowing all too well that I'd give in. I looked at him for a moment, weighing the items in my mind. It was a considerable trade, I wouldn't have to worry about the princess becoming a written version of me, and I could make her anything I wanted. Brunette, blue eyes, and a name consisting of no 'l's'; the farthest thing from myself.

I opened my mouth to speak, to tell him that it was fine, that I would gladly take this bargain, but he smiled and said, "So that's a yes, right?"

I nodded, still not able to fully speak. I hung my head down, closed my eyes, and tried to picture a princess in my mind. A girl, not like me, a girl who wasn't stuck in hell. James was again having a festival with the parchment and quill. I tried to block him out, and focus on my new victory, thinking that maybe it would lighten the horror of this all.

I glanced up at the clock once more, finding there was only a minute left in the class. Good, maybe lunch would somehow mellow my mood out, but that was utterly doubtful. Even food couldn't make the situation better. "So, let me get this straight," he spoke, making sure everything was right, neat, "I get a stag, to do the prince and name the place?"

"Yeah," I groaned, losing the last bit of energy I had.

Tick. Tick. The clock seemed to be exaggerating every second, every millisecond. Sensing this, he leaned forward, much too close and said in a rushed voice, "Alright then, the prince will have red hair, the stag will be named Lilio," was that even name?, I though to myself, "and the place will be called Evansville." And before I could react in some sort of violent way, mostly words but a punch was not far off, he pecked my cheek and dashed out of the door.

I sat there, my thoughts swirling and my cheek burning.

_A/N: Sorry about not updating in a while. Anyways the actual writing of the fairytale will be started in the next chapter. Review and tell me what you think!_


	3. Undectable Carvings

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Enjoy and review.

**Chapter Three**

I have feelings, not those emotion driven feelings, but rather those feelings you get when you know something is wrong or on the verge of becoming so. Because I sat there, waiting, a feeling took over me, telling me that this project would never truly get done.

It was irrational to think such a thing, but I couldn't help myself. It was only Tuesday, barely the beginning of class, but _he _still wasn't here and I still didn't have his half of the work in my hands, for all I knew he could have totally forgotten about it. I usually wasn't like this, so uptight, so controlling, not that I wasn't just a tad bit, normally. But so many things had engulfed inside of me, like someone had thrown set a match upon a pile of oily rags. Anger raged inside of me, an emotion I usually didn't feel or perhaps just because I usually deposited somewhere else in my mind, a place I usually didn't visit often.

Mixed in with the anger I felt some confusion swirling around, confusion about why or how, even what. I had come to the fact I was working with Potter, overcome the shock and sad truth. It was mostly because Alice, maybe because she had calmed me down so much that she tricked me into thinking that maybe, perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all. And part of me, a rather large one, was screaming at me to get over it and move on, try and get the project done quickly. But perhaps I had a problem, because no matter how hard I would try I could never truly find closure, on anything.

I ran my index finger over the bumpy lines of the desk, in no particular pattern, but rather trying to find something to do. And while I was doing this mind-occupying activity, I couldn't help but wonder how those lines got there. I suppose there were lots of reasons they could have gotten there. Someone could have gotten so angry, so frustrated at something that they dug their quill into their parchment a bit too hard, or rather someone could have been merely too clumsy and accidentally dropped something upon the table. It seemed pointless to think about such things, what did it matter? I didn't know the people, who had formed the lines on the table, and I doubted I ever would, but there was this strange thing that happened when I ran my fingers over the carvings, like somehow I could relate to what they were feeling, like all I wanted to do was carve meaningless lines into the table.

James quickly interrupted my train of thought, with a stupid grin plastered across his face and manila folder. Parchment was sticking out of the folder, which already told me enough: his work was rubbish. And the grin on his face was permanent, like a tattoo. "Hey," he said, his voice energetic and eager, much the opposite of my own.

"Did you actually do it?" I asked, trying not to snap at him, but I simply couldn't help it. My pile of parchment was neatly stacked on the corner of the desk, not an inch out of place, all the words elegantly drawn out.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did," he replied, unfazed by my unfriendly mood, but rather more enthralled by it. He hastily grabbed the chair next to me, pulling it letting it make a nails-on-a-chalkboard like sound, and plopping down it. He threw down his folder on the table, sending some of the papers at me.

I scowled, gathering them off of my lap and slapped down on them the table, my eyes still narrowed. "Well, let's see what you've got then," I said, mentally preparing myself to do his portion of the work. The appearance was enough to tell me that the work inside was no better. I snatched the folder from the other end of the desk and plopped them in front of me. I pulled out of the first page, with some sort of jam smeared all over it, no less. I held it up, next to my face, and said in an angry tone, "Care to explain?"

He smiled sheepishly, and replied, his voice still cool and collected, "Sirius."

I groaned and ran my eyes over the page. It was nothing but a cover page, stating the obvious. _Lily Evans and James Potter. Hour Four. _I flipped to the next page, and to quite my surprise, it was perfect. The parchment was perfectly untarnished, not a blemish in sight and even with a magnifying glass, it'd be nearly impossible to find a flaw. On the page were a few notes, mostly tiny scrawl that held no importance to me, but to Potter, somehow, it was probably significant to his raisin sized brain.

"I can't even read this," I mumbled throwing the page his way.

"Lily," he replied, somehow trying to turn his voice into something that would comfort me and the only thing that would succeed in comforting me was him going away- and far. "Alright, well, we are calling the place Evansville; I knew you wouldn't go for Lilliania." My mind was running, thoughts swirling until they were no longer coherent. And I felt as though, at any moment, I was ready to fall over from some sort of exhaustion. Perhaps it was simply Potter-Exhaustion.

"Lilliania?" I whispered, not able to fully pronounce the ridiculous name. Honestly, if he wanted to name a place after me he could be a little more subtle about it.

"Yes, don't you think it has a nice ring to it? Not that Evansville isn't just as nice, but in my opinion it sounds a bit clichéd, don't you think?" He shuffled through his folder, his eyes intently focused on each paper as he flew past it. A faint smile was painted on his lips as he did this, somehow graceful, somehow almost not annoying.

It took a few light smacks to my head, and my mental voice asking me what the heck I was thinking, to shake that thought out of my head. Because James would always be annoying, no matter how unannoying he was at a time, or how graceful he looked. Before my thoughts could take another quite unexpected turn, he held something in front of my face that at first looked like a box of paints had thrown up on it.

I had to blink a few times to realize exactly what it was. On a different piece of parchment it was a picture, a drawing, a painting really. Each line was exact, everything was perfectly measured out, the lines just the right size. Not too big or too small. It was a palace, a stone castle sat in the left corner of the page, not too big, but small enough to look as though the path was dwindling down to it. A meadow of pure green, mixed with shades of purples and pinks filled the flowerbeds. There was an iron gate surrounding the palace, and it looked far too real. It was as though my hand was itching to touch it, just to make sure I wasn't about to be sucked into this magical place. There were no people, but simply the scene. It was like a postcard, like someone had taken a photograph.

"You…you drew this?" I stammered, not fully wanting to believe that Potter was able of such abilities. Even I couldn't draw half as well as this. I had been scolded by my math teacher back in Muggle School for not being able to draw a triangle the "right" way and here Potter was coughing up masterpieces, as though it was no big deal. Like it was something he did during breakfast.

He smiled, triumphant over the feelings that were coursing through my burning veins. "Yes, I think with all the purples and pinks, that Lilliania would make a perfect name for it, don't you think?" I gulped, wanting to badly to just give in and reveal that yes, with the picture he had shown, that Lilliania was the perfect name for it, but on other hand- who knew if Potter would let it go and move on?

I nodded. "Did you do the prince and the stag?" I was internally dying to see more of his artwork. I didn't dare to doubt that he indeed it, not for fear that he would somehow lash out or something of that sort, but rather I truly believed that he did. The way he had said yes in my question was more than enough to tell me so.

He smiled at my curiosity and pulled out two more pieces of parchment. One was of the two princes, two of which appearances were clearly different. One was blond, his eyes a piercing blue, and wearing one of those prince suits, the one with the tassels on the shoulders, all of which was a deep crimson. And when I looked at the first one, it appeared far too clichéd. It seemed like all the princes were blond, even though I could count several ones that weren't from a few of my childhood favorites, but when I saw the one standing beside it, I knew there was one specific reason I was rejecting this blonde one.

He was tall, not too tall, but tall enough to make one feel safe and secure, like she wasn't in harm's way. He was wearing a dark green suit, one that went well with his dazzling eyes. They were brown, with a billion speckles of other colors, gold and green, making up a perfect shade of hazel. I saved his hair for last, knowing it would the hardest factor to face. He had a mop of messy black hair piled onto his head, sticking out in random directions, but still remaining to look graceful, as a prince _should_ look.

And I couldn't deny it, how much I truly liked the second one was burning inside of me, begging to be released. The blonde one couldn't compare to the other one, the one with the messy black hair and vibrant eyes. It wasn't so much that I had something against blondes, they had pretty hair and all, but there was just something about the blonde prince, like perhaps he was simply the epitome of a prince. Whether he knew of the internal war raging inside of my head, I was unsure, but he smiled and pushed the other papers towards me.

There was a stag on one, and it looked too real, too detailed. It looked better than a photograph, the art skills embodied in it were simply too phenomenal to believe. On other were two princesses and for once I was glad Potter didn't listen to me, I was glad he had drawn them. There were two side by side, just like the picture of princes. One was dressed in a long blue gown that looked perfect with her long wavy brown hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Her eyes were a deep brown, and they didn't look dead or dull, but vibrant, just as the color blue was on the prince. Beside her was another one and I felt a lump in my throat form as I saw her.

She had long red hair, not too orange and too red, but simply just right. It flowed to her shoulders, a perfect length. She was in a long olive green dress, that not only complimented her beautiful long red hair, but her eyes as well as they shot out more than anything in the entire picture. They were a vibrant green, gleaming from angle they were looked at. And her smile, her pearly white teeth seemed to jump off the painting as well. It was clear that he had gotten inspiration from my appearance, but it seemed unfeasible for me, boring old Lily, to look that good.

She looked perfect, her hair, her body, her everything was simply right, the body models strive for but instead end up looking like toothpicks and the body that teenage girls could only dream of. "She's pretty," I spluttered, my finger pointing to the redhead.

"I suppose, but I think the inspiration is a lot prettier," he murmured, and I didn't know what to say. No witty response rang throughout my head and perhaps I didn't even want to say anything nasty. Perhaps it just felt nice to hear that, in a non-satirical tone, that is.

"But we could always use the brunette if you like," he suggested, "I was just experimenting and it was a bit of fun drawing people that look like us. We could use the blonde prince and the brunette princess, you know, if that's what you want."

I shook my head, a bit too quickly, causing my head to be mushy when I was finally able to answer him, "No, no. I want to use them, as surprising at that sounds. I mean, sure the other two are pretty, but something about the redhead and the one with the black hair is intriguing, it stands out a lot more. It's more original."

"What about names?" he asked. "We should call the princess Lila."

I groaned internally, why did he have to suggest that? But as weird as this feeling that was engulfing me, I liked it, even if it was far too close to my name. "Then we'll call the prince Jacob." Jacob was sort of close to James, and why I even wanted to go down that route was still fuzzy, not totally clear, to me.

He chuckled, "Are you sure? You're not drunk or anything? Because normally you'd beat me for even drawing a princess looking like you and call her Lila and then you suggest Jacob for the black-haired one!"

I grimaced and snapped, "Just take it while you can, Potter. It's the least I can do, you know, since you drew those."

"Oh," he laughed again, "I will. Well, I suppose we should start chapter one now, right?"

I swallowed and replied, "Oh yes." And as I watched him pull out a clean sheet of parchment and his quill, I found myself digging my nails into the table, creating a carving of my own. And it wasn't that I was doing it out of anger or frustration, not even clumsiness, but some sort of emotion that I couldn't detect.

The feelings I believed I had, the ones where I felt as though something was bound to go wrong, well, it seemed as though they were defying against me, because this wasn't wrong, this sudden urge to not be so nasty to Potter, or that this wasn't so bad after all just didn't seem right. All that seemed right, at this particular moment, was that I was leaving a mark of my own on this desk. A mark that was undetectable, one that simply could not be determined.

_A/N: Okay, I swear the next chapter will have the story of the fairytale start! I just got this idea about these drawings all of sudden, so yeah, I liked it, so I wrote it. Anyways please review and tell me what you think!_


	4. Sweaty Palms and Beating Hearts

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Enjoy and review!

I've always hated Wednesdays, the way not only the name but the position of the day, also, taunted you, torturing you, reminding you that you had another two days left in the week. Another two days of endless torture, or whatever you wanted to call it, simply I stuck close to torture.

And it seem almost weird, after all yesterday I nearly lost it, I complimented Potter, I, for once, said something nice, in a tone that wasn't satirical, not even slightly. Surely, I was losing my mind, right? And after I worked endlessly through the odds and ends of my warped mind, I found that I liked the idea of the way the prince and princess looked, and strange, almost mentally destroying, I found myself grinning, stupidly of course, at the names that each one possessed. Nobody would notice, really, unless of course one of us pointed it out.

I was too busy shuffling through my thoughts, most set on the project, other assignments, and Potter, that I didn't notice him setting himself in the chair next to me. His hair was the usual black disarray, and for once, I found it wasn't all too obnoxious, the way his hair looked like he hadn't brushed through it in several years, like he just rolled out of bed. He could quite surprisingly pull it off. He smiled, the light bouncing off his pearly white teeth, did everything about him to be so connected, like he was some sort of puzzle? His hair worked, along with his hair, and soon, before I could stop myself, before I could stop this crazy aneurysm racking through my head, I'd soon find his personality appealing. I quickly repelled the thought, knowing full well, that was impossible.

"So, ready to start writing, Lily?" he asked, completely oblivious to the war raging inside of my head. I did my best, which equaled the worst in most books, to shove these thoughts in some empty drawer in my head.

"Oh, yeah, sure," I quickly replied, angry at myself for being so flustered, it wasn't like I was even affected by Potter, maybe in an irritating way, but surely not _that_ way.

"I wrote a little bit last night, you know, it just kind of flowed out. I never knew this, but, I don't know, there is something about writing that gives you relaxation, some sort of release, it's amazing, really," he explained, a new smile painted across his face, showing even more of his teeth, blinding me even more.

I nodded, before replying in a monotonous tone, "Yeah, I suppose it is." He quickly jumbled through his papers, the pictures he had so miraculously drawn flashing towards me, and the smile that drew itself across my face was something I could not control, something my mouth was doing for me, rather than I doing it for my mouth. He reached for a piece of parchment, unsurprisingly smothered in messy scrawl, looking more like someone had dumped ink all over it, than anything else.

He handed it to me, more excited than all the children Christmas morning, and spoke, "We don't have to use it, I just thought I should show it to you, you know, just so you know that I want to contribute." I took the paper from his hands, and set it down in front of me. Ink smudges scattered across the paper, the words smearing together, but nonetheless the writing, not penmanship, but the words that worked together, was quite amazing, truly breathtaking.

_The snowflakes, white and sparkled, trickled down from the puffy clouds, cloud of pure nothingness, Lila told herself. Lila had always known, always been sure that there was nothing beyond those white blobs, those blobs that most told her held amazing things, were indeed empty. Lila, a redheaded, intelligent, princess, was always the pessimistic one, not looking at the glass half empty, but rather- What's the point of having a glass half anything, anyway? It will be gone, anyway. _

_And it wasn't just those types of the things she detested, but simply everything about her life was neatly stacked into a pile of detest; Lila had many piles. She wasn't suicidal, or wishing that she'd get stampeded by a parade of horses, because if she were to die, she'd be up beyond the clouds, beyond nothingness, and whatever was up there ought to be worse, right? Because to Lila everything seemed like complete hell, being a princess was stupid, pointless, and word "princess" made her insides twist and turn. _

_Princess meant stupid things, like she was supposed to be the damsel in distress, like she was supposed to wait on the balcony, brushing her long hair, waiting for knight in shining arm to sweep her off her feet, and the thing was, Lila didn't want any of that, she wanted to live free, do something with this already horrible life. She desired, her heart lusted after everything her father was capable of; doing something, anything, really, to change the community, or simply change her life. Lila wanted that, a change, because perhaps a change, even a small one, meant new things could form._

_Lila quickly snapped out of her rather pointless daze- what did it help to dream, they never came true anyway? The scent of pure vanilla wafted through her room, a pleasant smell, yes, but a very bland one, there was no life to it, no excitement, but that seemed strange, a scent with excitement. She sat before the mirror, the mirror she was subjected to look at her flaming red hair in everyday, to see just how different she was from the other girls, the other pretty ones. It wasn't so much that Lila was self-conscious; you simply couldn't be self-conscious when you weren't near people, but she detested, along with a plethora of other things, her looks. Her brilliant red hair looked as though someone had set fire to it, and her big green eyes made her feel like her eyes were produce, big shiny apples, and she hated those. _

_Lila didn't have any siblings, anybody to simply talk to, her father was always doing something that he claimed to be important, and her mother basked in the glory that her father supplied her with, the glory of his love, the glory of the town's love, and whether she knew it or not, the gory of Lila's deep hate for her. Lila knew it was wrong to hate your mother, after all she had given you life, gone through agony just so you could live, but Lila couldn't help it, her mother was too much to bear. She was always hinting at Lila that she ought to be married now, she ought to have babies now, but there was something about that, something about being married and having babies at a mere seventeen that did not appeal to Lila. And even if she did find someone she liked, which was highly unlikely, they could never like, let alone love, her back, what with her hair, and outlook on life. Because Lila knew, there was no such thing as love, no such thing as that feeling of knowing you could be with one person for the rest of your life, knowing that every time you looked at the person, you fell in love, all over again._

James awaited my response, his eyes wide, and his perfect lips curving slightly upward. His hands were neatly folded, as though somehow that would influence my decision, but I knew my decision couldn't be altered, not even if I tried. My heart was pounding in my chest, causing a throbbing sensation, and I was quite sure that he could hear it, I knew I could. Not the volume of my overactive heart, or my deep red face broke his concentration. He waited, quietly, perhaps wanting me to get every word out of my review, every single one, every single syllable. "I…it was good, no, Potter, this was amazing," I spluttered, feeling my face delving several shades deeper. His smile did not widen in satisfaction, but he nodded his head.

"I think you should finish it, the first chapter, I suppose that was the first half of it, but we don't have to use it if you don't want to," he quickly replied, not wanting to come off as cocky, which was only half surprising.

"No, no, but do you really think I should ruin your perfect writing with, well, mine?"

"Lily," he scolded, his eyes narrowing, not telling me that I wasn't putting forth any effort, but that I was being ridiculous. His posture was more relaxed, more of the looks of a adolescent boy.

"I suppose, I could, but let me get this straight? Lila is the pessimistic one, and Jacob is the optimistic one, the one makes her outlook on life change and makes her fall in love with him?" I asked, knowing that if written the wrong way, it'd be far too clichéd, far too predictable. But James had an amazing idea, ideas, actually, and I knew that it would be written the right way, James would make sure that would happen, or at least I would.

"If you want to, yes, it depends on how you write, really. Writing takes you places, you don't take it," he replied, sounding like a quote book on how to look at life in a good way, something Lila would need. He gathered a few pieces of parchment from his folder, and a quill. He handed them to me, his eyes bright, as though he was handing an artist paint, and was eager to see what they would come up with. But I was no artist, in writing or pure art. I was an excellent student, yes, but Potter, he made me feel not insecure, and not that I had to live up to whatever bar he held, but something I could tell, something that was eating away at me.

My timid fingers took the parchment and ink from his hands, and it was simply ridiculous. I shouldn't let his art or writing skills bring out the hesitant one out of me, I shouldn't let something so pointless cause sweaty palms and beating hearts. It was virtually impossible to go from loathing one's everything to finding that they could be rather charming, when they were alone at least. It was vital to remind myself that, otherwise before I knew it I'd be hyperventilating.

"Well," I spoke, my voice uneasy, "how should we end the first chapter? Should Lila meet Jacob?" I knew that if I was going to write the last half, I should have a structure, a plan.

"Lily," he said, his tongue rolling over my name perfectly, angering me that he did this to me –this annoying charming type thing-, "you decide, anything is impossible, really, and I know that sounds so corny, but really, anything can fit."

"Besides you have to contribute, you know," he teased, not helping my current condition. I swallowed, or at least attempted to, the lump in my throat.

"Alright, but you can't get angry at me if it turns out to be rubbish," I replied, knowing that this new Lily, this self-conscious one, was simply wrong, just not who I normally was.

"Oh please," he muttered, ignoring my cowardly statements. He pushed the paper closer towards me, and said quietly, "Just write."

I sighed, perhaps hoping, wishing, that it'd free me of this monster raging inside of me. I gathered the quill into my right hand, lightly dipped it into the ink, and let it loose across the parchment, hoping that I'd get the same experience James did. I wanted that release, too, I wanted to release this self-conscious, mentally unstable beast in me, because there ought to be more to it, surely James couldn't do that to me, after all, I did hate his insides, right?

_Lila quickly ran a brush through her thick, red hair, and sat, her back pressed firmly to the chair, and examined herself in the mirror. She knew, she felt, that it did not matter how many times you brushed your hair, or how much makeup you threw on your face, you would always have the same appearance, the same appearance that you either hated or loved, and Lila knew exactly how she felt about hers. She sighed, or perhaps grumbled, to Lila it did not matter, nothing really every did. She rose from the chair, patted her emerald green dress down, making sure not a wrinkle was in sight, not even a mere mistake, because as her mother always told her, or rather reminded her unhappily, a princess in never truly a princess if she has even one flaw. _

_Lila cascaded down the marble stairs, yet another addition to the already long list of things she loathed. She lived in a castle, yes, as many would primarily assume an old clichéd castle. Nearly sixteen rooms filled themselves into the grey stone exterior. Outside, vines smothered the stones, making a perfect rope system for anybody to climb up, but that was rather pointless, after all who would climb up her castle, for her? As she found herself in the middle of the foyer, a room filled with flowers, portraits, and other pointless items, she eyed around for a sign of anyone else. It was surprising, yes, to be left alone, but nonetheless, quite appealing. Lila already knew exactly where her father was, at the community center, on his red cushion and white buttoned throne, ordering around the townspeople and making rash decisions, and her mother was probably right beside him, radiating in the wintry mix. _

_But guards were usually stationed in every corner of the castle, keeping their nosy eyes on Lila and every on of her moves, but there were no guards to be seen, not a single mustard yellow coat in sight. They were more of eyesores, than anything else. Lila didn't mind to it, didn't really care that she wasn't be looked after. She glided across the marble floor, her dress sliding easily against the smoothness of it. She went into the dining area, a room with a large dark wooden table, with nearly one hundred luxurious chairs beside it. A rather monstrous chandelier hung above the table, ivory candles hanging from it, burning off the scent of sweet vanilla. _

_She plopped herself down on a chair and sighed, it seemed routine, her constant sighing. She laid her head down on the table, an extremely rude gesture, but Lila didn't care, she couldn't care less even if she tried. She let her mind wander, the thoughts of the winter festival coming up, a festival where she was to have a date, but she'd probably get stuck with another guard looking like a dandelion. Her mother flashed through her already pounding head, her voice like nails against a chalkboard, telling her only daughter that she ought to do something with that hair of hers to make it look decent. And before Lila could think of something to shut her mother up, usually a torturous and rather gruesome way, a soft knock erupted from the door in the foyer._

_Lila shot her head up, her dress full of wrinkles, her hair mashed to one side. She did her best to smooth both out, before, slowly, cautiously, walking to the door; after all it was probably just a few guards reporting late to their assignments. She waited for the second tap on the door, much louder, much ruder, but still nice to listen to. She placed her unusually pale hand on the door handle, a golden one at that, and pulled at it, letting the heavy wooden door swing open, revealing exactly who was behind that door. _

_He was not an eyesore, maybe his suit, but definitely not him, that was certain. He stood there, his hair a deep black color, and sticking up all over the place. His hazel eyes stood out from his face, not that it was hard to look at that. He was smiling, his hand already on Lila's, and his lips already kissing it. And there Lila already she knew he hated him, before he announced, "Hello, my name is Jacob." Because anybody who would cause this condition deserved to be hated, these sweaty palms and overly beating heart._

A/N: Okay, so sorry about the long time, but I really don't know when the next one will be, my computer is broken, so I'll try my best. Using the other ones is not so easy. Anyways, I hope Lily is not too out of character, I thought she was a bit, and the chapters will have a mix of Lily/James and Lila/Jacob, its Lily and James writing the story, completely oblivious to knowing they are writing their own love story. So review and tell me what you think!


	5. Name Mishaps

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Enjoy and review.

**Chapter Five**

Loud noises scattered throughout the room, as partners were arguing, reading, or in Sirius's case snogging, but none of that seemed to break James's concentration as he intently read my portion of the writing of the first chapter. At certain points, he'd raise an eyebrow, others he'd simply smile and nod, and simply it was far too hard to determine exactly what he was thinking without beating it out of him. As he finished, he lightly set the parchment down, a rather large grin growing on his face, his eyebrows at their normal location, and spoke, "Amazing."

"I suppose, it's alright," I replied, feeling a new surge of self-doubting pour itself onto me, and I wanted more than anything to regain my witty, sarcastic, and rather nasty remarks to take their permanent place back inside of me, but instead here I was, spluttering on how I supposed my work was alright, when I knew it was very good, and blushing a deep red. I knew that my work was good, up and beyond the standards of most teachers, but when I saw what James had done, what he had effortlessly accomplished, what had come so easily to him, it didn't make me particularly angry, but confused.

"Lily, you easily surpassed my portion of writing, it was amazing. Stop denying that," he smiled gently pushing a new piece of parchment, and quill towards me, "maybe you should start where you left off, you know; you do the first half of the second chapter." This was ridiculous, I mused, completely and utterly. It was just a class assignment, right? – And there was absolutely no reason for me to act like this.

I seized the paper, hoping that perhaps my sudden, but rather small, rudeness was a sign that he or this assignment was _not_ affecting me, in any way, shape, or a form. He did look a bit startled, taken back just a bit, but he didn't let that bother him, as he spoke in the same tone as he did before, "They should start off hating each other, definitely." I nodded, grasped the quill into my right hand, and did all but attack the parchment with the anger that was raging inside of me.

_Lila stood there, frozen, her knees feeling like gelatin, and her face a deep red that matched her hair. Jacob stood there, too, unfazed by whatever was roaring inside of Lila's head, the deep hatred that coursed through her veins. His hand was still around Lila's, but the place where his lips had been just moments ago caused a burning sensation on that particular part of Lila's body. "What…what are you doing here?" She stammered, which was quite odd, Lila was the sarcastic, witty one, the one that wouldn't let anything make her flustered, not even a gorgeous boy, who really, didn't mean anything. _

_"Oh, I'm one of the guards," he replied, his tone nonchalant, his tone casual and very harmless, but to Lila it made the urge to strangle him even more strong than before. He stepped in the foyer, bringing a bundle of snow in with him, freshly fallen. White snowflakes were scattered in his jet black hair, making an undeniably beautiful contrast, another addition to the reasons why Lila already hated him. He brushed off his mustard yellow coat, bits of snow fell to the marble flooring, creating a perfect calculation for a puddle, a puddle Lila wished someone would slip on; preferably her mother or Jacob. "Oh, and I'm oh, so sorry, for being tardy. I was lost, and I know that isn't a legitimate excuse, but I suppose it would be rather wise to tell you, anyway."_

_"Rather wise?" Lila scoffed at his formalness, some formalness people bestowed upon her, insisting it was only right, after all she was the King's daughter. "How exactly?" Lola demanded._

_"You are the princess, and well you do have the right to have several rather large men with their spathas to give me what I deserve, right?" He asked, a bit uneasy, the thought of men –much larger than him- with heavy swords, ones that were rather sharp and were blemished with red splotches, made his skin crawl, his head spin in dizzy circles. _

_"You think that just because you were late, that I'd ask my father to have you killed?" _

_"I've learned from past experiences," he muttered, keeping his pools of hazel eyes focused on the marble floor, as though it held an interesting pattern other than the mush of colors together. _

_"Well, yes," Lila spluttered, looking to steer the tone of the atmosphere away from serious and depressing and back to her specialty; sarcasm. "Well, are you going just to stand there or are you actually go to do where you were sent here to do, you know, work?"_

_Jacob recoiled by the sudden sourness that jumped off of Lila, the sudden way her tone jumped from a bit of impoliteness to plain nastiness. "Oh, yes, that, well I'm not so sure, I'm new and the rest of the guards on are on holiday. So, do you think could maybe show me?" he asked, his voice cautious and ready for another verbal attack. _

_She sighed, not a sigh of relief, or anything of that sort, but rather of irritation. She brushed her out of her face, and guided Jacob across the floor, her dress leaving a trail of melted snow wherever her feet took her. "I don't much about what they do exactly," she explained, "other than stand around and follow every move I make. And of course, the occasional scolding, like somehow they think whatever they say to me actually matters." _

_Jacob nodded, not daring to say another word, afraid that a simple "yes" or "okay, alright", would be enough to set her off. It was clear from the beginning that Lila had a short fuse, one that easily sparked at the simplest of things. She led him through the rooms, all simple rooms with complicated names and furniture that looked they had never been sat on. Jacob wasn't one to question, especially a person of such status, but rather kept quiet and simply wondered what it would be like to live a life like that, a life of simplicity, a life without needing to be on your toes every moment, fearing death at every turn. _

_They found themselves in what Lila described as the Rendezvous Room, a name she scoffed at, a name her mother had come up with. Jacob found himself laughing, too, not rudely, though, of course, but a giggle or two was alright. The room was a deep purple, a room filled with warmth and hideous green furniture. Beside the green chairs, a green that easily resembled vomit, portraits dressed the walls. They all sat in golden frames with detailed carvings that only accented to the amazing artwork that sat in them. Flowers, fruits, a person or two, all shaped themselves easily into the frames as they bounced off the walls. As clichéd as most of the paintings were, they were simply indescribable, the skill that had been put into making them was more than Jacob could imagine a single human could possess._

_"Do the guards just stand in corners of the house all day?" Jacob inquired, hammering out all the details of this job. He couldn't afford, -he couldn't even dream about it-, to lose this job, or merely slip up. _

_"Yes, they do," Lila sharply answered, not seeming pleased with Jacob's arrival. Jacob nodded, smoothed his coat, and waited for anything else Lila wanted to throw at him. Lila didn't delay what was spinning in her head, she easily spat it out. "Why did you even take this job? It's very monotonous and I'll be the first to say I'm not a very pleasant person."_

_Jacob wanted to say something along the lines 'I don't have to be a King to see that,' or 'Really?', but knew all to well that would be counted as slipping up, or simply losing his new job that he had worked so hard to get. "I simply needed a job, and I'm sure you're not as bad as you say you are." _

_"Are you sure about that?" Lila challenged back, a bit surprised at his interaction with her –most guards would have threatened to alert her father, already-, but Jacob was different, not that he was rejecting her status-not that Lila cared about that-, but he didn't let that get in the way of talking to her normally, as though she was a common. _

_"I guess we'll to find out, right?" He asked back, with a smile, unknowingly setting off Lila's temper. _

_"Just report to your station," she spat back, her hatred for him growing. While most would settle on the fact that he disrespected her was the reason she hated Jacob, it most certainly wasn't, Lila hated him –for a lot of reasons, yes, - but there was one simple reason that summed up the list of all the others. Beside the sweaty palms and ridiculous other symptoms, Jacob made feel Lila as though she was losing her personality, not technically her personality, but rather the urge she use to strongly have, the urge to say nasty things to whoever crossed her path. Because Jacob stopped those urges, halted all the mean things she wanted to say on the tip of her tongue. _

I couldn't help the fact that I was easily transferring all my feelings onto the page, every bubbling emotion inside of me found its way on the parchment, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it. I couldn't get the quill out of my tenacious fingers, and I couldn't get it to stop writing these words, these words that so easily could be transferred into my own self, and be identical to what was already there. And it was harder, as James watched me writing, watching me pouring out my soul onto this piece of parchment, although it didn't take a rocket scientist to see that he was completely oblivious to it; much like all other men.

I suppose, the names of the two characters aside, that they both were a bit like James and I, not that I would ever admit it, especially not to James. And I couldn't help that, either. It wasn't as though I was putting my traits into Lila, because of our name similarities, but for some other reason I couldn't quite my finger on, a reason that was bound to drive me crazy.

I released the quill, my hand sweaty. "Alright, you can finish the second half," I replied, trying my hardest to set my tone to casual, that there wasn't a war raging inside of my head.

Thankfully he pulled out a new quill for him –explaining to him the one I had been using was covered in nervous sweat would have be unbearable. He easily took the parchment that was sitting in front of me and quickly read over it, I was expecting the usual "Amazing" or perhaps an identical, "This is phenomenal", but now he had said something that gave me the idea that though that maybe he caught onto what I had done to the characters.

"Lily, don't you feel that they are quite like us, besides the names and appearances?" he asked, setting the paper down, smiling profusely.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, not at all, I think it's amazing, really, the way they are just like us, but not quite," he replied still staring in awe at the paper, as though it was a diamond or something shiny.

"James, really it is no big deal," I answered, not paying much attention to his behavior. I stuffed my belongings into my bag, noticing there were only a few minutes left of class. I made sure to take the sweaty quill, even it was Potter's. As I placed a few spare pieces of parchment into the bag and buttoned it, I saw from the corner of my eye James looking intently at me, his jaw dropped. "Er, are you okay?" Perhaps he was having some sort of breakdown or something; maybe I had portrayed Jacob in a way that he was having trouble dealing with.

"You…you called me James," he stammered, not believing what I had just said.

I was confused to say the least, the last time I checked he hadn't changed his name to Hubert or anything. "Isn't that your name?" I simply asked, unsure of what else to.

"But that is the first time you've ever called me by my first name, you've always called me Potter, and now, now you've just called me James," he replied, still in a weird daze.

"What exactly are you implying, James?" I asked, irritated.

"It sounds so nice, the way you say it," he replied, mostly talking to himself, basking in what he found the glory of it.

And then my jaw dropped, too, another movement I couldn't control. My cheeks delved into a deep red, my eyes blinking uncontrollably looking for an answer. My heart picked up tempo, my hands forming into fists. Normally, the old me –the me, I so dearly missed- would say something dripping with sarcasm, but I couldn't find anything to say, no even something nice. The bell rung, although it was only a mere whistle as the buzzing in my head was pounding through the walls of my skull. He stood up and left the room, smiling, still.

Lila had a point, a point to hate nearly everything, because beside my regular list of things I hated –Wednesdays, peanuts, heat,-, I knew one more thing I was ready to add, in big bold letters at the top. The name James had earned a first place on the list things I hated.

_A/N: Okay, so the update was much quicker! Lily probably will regain her normal self back soon, or rid of the so self-conscious one, the one who really can't think of anything sarcastic to say to Potter. But we'll see, wherever the story goes….the fairytale does have some major similarities to the relationship of James and Lily's but it also has it's own originalities, like Jacob's past, that we will find out soon. Anyways review and tell me what you think –another update might be this weekend, since I really want to write about Jacob's past. _


	6. Feelings

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: It is a big long, but it's needed. Read and Review!

**Chapter Six**

I sat upon the newly dry grass, soaking in the spring air, the sweet smell of flowers and sunshine bustling around me. Piles of parchment piled upon my lap, a few quills, too, plenty of tools to encourage me to write, but I wasn't in it, my brain wasn't ready to unload another surge of words, words that were simple syllables, but meant so much that it scared me.

It was Wednesday, evening quickly approaching, and a Quidditch game, too. Usually they were played Friday and Saturday nights, nights when students who should be studying hollered in the stadiums for a pointless game, but I suppose there had been some sort of cancellation earlier in the season, and game just had to be made up tonight. It was complete rubbish, really. I knew Quidditch was important to James –after what had happened earlier in class, I had become attuned to calling him that; cringes and all- almost like a drug to him; he insisted it was some sort of release for him. But what was there to release? Air?

I knew that wasn't true, James had completely destroyed the ideas I had of him being dumber than a doorknob, him not nearly as intelligent I had thought I was. It wasn't just the fact his art skills were unbelievably good, or the fact he could easily write a bestseller if he just simply tried, but that he didn't flaunt it, he hid it, actually. James didn't boast his grades as I know I had done, and that was what had me so puzzled, had my thoughts in such a wired jumble that nothing could unravel them. Being him, or what I had presumed him to be, the egotistical jerk, I had thought he was brag about anything he could. His grades were better, his hair more tousled, his eggs whiter, but James had proved me wrong on all accounts of what I thought he was. James showed me he wasn't such an egotistical twat, he was a person I could stand, and I was scared more than anything.

James Potter was turning out to be a decent person, a person I actually wanted to be around, a person that understood exactly what I was saying and easily related to it. Things like that shouldn't happen, especially when the other person is James Potter. It simply just doesn't work out that way.

The contemplating thoughts bouncing around in my head had torn me away from reality, from the screaming blurs of red and blue. I snapped my head to the stadium; red scarves from the Gryffindors crowded the left side, as the Ravenclaws were shouting as loud as they could with their blue ensembles from the right. Players were aimlessly flying around in the stadium, building up the anticipation even more, the urge of these students to shout their team to victory.

I shuffled my belongings into my knapsack, no particular organization, but rather I was desperate to get out of this unsafe zone, I could easily be kidnapped by Alice and be forced to sit through another game of torture, of endless confusion and far too many balls flying around. I stood up; lightly brushed the remnants of grass that had stuck to my skirt, threw my bag upon my shoulder, and proceeded to the castle. As I walked, I couldn't help but notice the sunset that painted across the sky, the way the colors flowed evenly into one another, the way the masterpiece the sky created looked so easy, so easy-going, so un-troubling.

I was too caught up in the sky, the simplicity of such a common thing, to notice that I had bumped, no, walked into someone. And while I was easily prepared to say a quick 'Excuse me' or an 'I'm sorry', I most certainly wasn't prepared for who exactly I had bumped into. His grin said too much, his eyes the deepest hazel I had ever seen, his jet black hair, somehow in an unfathomable way, looking gorgeous in that tousled fashion. His hands were gently placed on my shoulders, steadying me, and his face was too close to mine for my liking. He chuckled, "Where are you going?" I couldn't concentrate on what I wanted to say, on what was bubbling on the tip of my tongue, I could only feel the weight of his hands on my shoulders, and how much I liked it, how much it scared me to feel this way.

"Um…I…the castle, why?" I stammered, trying to labor in some sort of nastiness into my voice, trying to get the old Lily to come across, the Lily that had mysteriously gone away, and simply wasn't coming back. His hands were still on my shoulders, as I noticed he was wearing his Quidditch uniform, the red and gold accurately exaggerating his muscles. My hands clenched into tight fists, so tight it hurt to try to get them back to their original posture.

"We don't have any homework, and I was thinking, maybe you could come to the game. I know you really aren't into the whole Quidditch thing, but I really think you'd like it tonight. The Seeker on our team is probably going to get it quick tonight, so it won't be that long of a game," he said, trying to sell me into the game, the thought of sitting on a cold wooden bench, while going permanently deaf. No matter how good he looked in the uniform, it really didn't make up for it.

My lips parted, the words starting to escape, and before I could realize what I was doing, I was agreeing. "Yes," I answered, my voice emotionless, mimicking a robot. I felt like there was someone inside of me, controlling my thoughts and my words, making me like Potter, as a person, making the switch in my head that was supposed to be on 'Hate' for him turn into 'Like', and I was afraid what would happen next if I couldn't get that switch quickly back to 'Hate'.

"Yes?" he clarified, obviously not believing, as neither did I.

I shook my head, and sighed, "Yeah, I suppose I'll go. I have nothing else to do tonight." His eyes grew larger and brighter, his grin too big for his face. He easily resembled a child in a giant toy store, after just being told they could anything they want and however much they want. His hands moved from my shoulders to around me, squeezing me in crushing hug. And the usual part of me, that would push him away, disgusted, didn't. I was frozen, not enjoying the hug, no, Merlin, I hope not.

In a rushed voice, he spoke in my ear, "Thank you, so much, Lily! I promise you won't regret it, and if you do, I'll take you to Hogsmeade and get you anything you want, and even if you don't regret, I'll take you anyway!" Without another word spoken, from either of us, he gave me one last look, a look of pure ecstasy, and then sprinted towards the stadium, looking ever so graceful doing so. I wanted to pound my head in, I wanted a giant hole to swallow me, and I wanted something, anything, to take me away from this, to take me away from whatever was happening. My head was mush, I couldn't control anything anymore. I couldn't speak the words I wanted, I couldn't hit Potter when he touched me, I couldn't get myself to hate him. I couldn't be anymore, and I didn't know why, I didn't know why this was happening. It was ridiculous, this feeling, whatever it was. I mean, surely it is easy to get rid of feelings. You feel sad; you go do something happy to rid of the sadness. You hate someone, you find a way to like them, and surely if you find yourself to like someone, you can find a way to hate them, right? Surely, feelings weren't this powerful. You can control who you like and who you don't and nothing can change that, right?

I hobbled forward and spun around in the opposite direction towards the stadium. Potter was nowhere in sight, I suppose he was among the red coats flying. I stumbled towards the stadium, not fully aware of my surroundings. The sunset was no longer beautiful, the spring smell no longer inviting, and this life no longer worth meaning. If I was feeling this way, I didn't want to feel at all.

It took me more than it should have to reach the wooden bleachers. It was darker now, the purples and reds of the sunset morphing into a deep blue. The air was becoming cooler, not too cold, but not comfortable with what I was wearing. I lazily walked up the stairs, looking for a spot that wasn't too crowded, but that seemed impossible. Honestly, it was like the stadium was teeming with all of Europe.

I finally found a seat; the edge of the second to last row, most of the Gryffindors had succumbed into the lower rows, which did seem a bit odd, as most of the game was played high in the sky, but I didn't bother to question. I set my bag down on my lap, and let a noticeable frown paint itself across my face. The announcer, a boy with an unappealing high voice, was spluttering plays left and right, his words too fast, creating a jumble of Quidditch like words. One moment, I'd hear something about a Quaffle and the next there was some rubbish about someone almost catching the Snitch.

I watched the game in silence. Alice wasn't anywhere to be seen, not that I'd want to be near here during the game. Alice was known to get overly excited, and being near the rest of James's friends was like a death sentence, except for Remus, he was alright, I suppose, but spending time with Sirius and that plump boy wasn't very appealing. As I tried to reel my brain into getting into the game, a gasp erupted from the speaker, from the announcer. I thought that maybe the Snitch had been caught, but as the other gasps from the spectators filtered through the air, they weren't of excitement, but of shock, and not a good surprise.

I swung my head around the abnormally tall boy in front of me and tried to see what was happening. Teachers were flooding the field, their hands covering their gaping mouths, their eyes wide. I finally stood on the bench, able to see what was happening.

James was lying on the grass; splinters of his broken broom scattered over his body, and covered in blood. My eyes were ridiculously crowding with moisture, I tried to tell myself it was probably just allergies, but I couldn't focus on that entirely, but rather the bloody, lifeless-looking James lying on the grass. Madame Pomfreywas hovering over him, doing something with her wand, but she still had the same worried expression on her face. Before anyone else, myself included, could conjure up a conclusion as to what was happening, a new voice took hold of the microphone. It was Slughorn, his voice low, "This game will be rescheduled for next Friday, as too many players are hurt," _Players? It wasn't just James?_ "Students, please report back to your dormitories, and get ready for classes tomorrow."

Students, blue and red, hurriedly scattered out of the stadium, and to the castle. It was as if they simply did not want to know the outcome of what was happening. I sat there, my mouth still forming a perfect 'O'. My heart had been kicked into overdrive, and I was afraid that it was only moments away from exploding. James was lying there on the grass, bloody and hurt, and it wasn't as though there was anything that I _could _do, there were things I wanted to do, yes, but I was just as helpless as he was at the present moment.

I sat there until everyone had cleared from the field, teachers, players, and James, too. My heart was still pounding away, jagged patterns erupting from each heartbeat. I let the wind rip around me, let it tangle my hair into knots, and raise Goosebumps on my legs and arms, I let it take control over me. It seemed like I had no control over anything anymore, not the way I felt, or what I thought. For a while, I thought about what exactly had happened, perhaps James had just been knocked off his broom, not rammed into a post. I tried to stay optimistic, tell myself it was alright, but it was far too hard. I couldn't look past the blood, past the way his body looked so still, so inanimate.

And that is what made me so angry- why did I care so much? Usually, I'd be happy that he'd be summoned to a bed, no walking, so he wouldn't be able to bug me to death, but now as he didn't do that as much, I was worried for him. I didn't care for him, heavens no; just worried that he was alright. There was obviously a difference, a very clear one.

Finally, I stood up, and walked slowly down the steps, letting the creaks fill the silence that blanketed me. I wanted some noise to filter through the silence, to make this trap not so suffocating. James was trapping me, his decentness was trapping me in a bubble of liking him, and I needed to pop it. As I reached the grounds, the grass, I could see red splotches scattered around. Blood. James's Blood. And it hurt, a tug at my heart to see that, but surely I'd feel that way if it was anyone's blood, right?

I averted my eyes forward, not looking down, not wanting to, and continued on. I didn't want to feel this way anymore, this feeling that actually made me care for him. I walked through the castle, letting the warmth welcome me, as the smell of outside, too. Injured players were walking back to their dormitories, those who didn't need to stay overnight, those who were given simple potions, stitches, or a stern 'Suck it up'. I lagged behind a group of Gryffindors, six years, I suppose, not eavesdropping, of course not, but simply following them so I wouldn't have to hunt for the password all night.

"Did you see Potter?" A blonde asked, her left hand bandaged, her voice low and depressed.

"I know, he's a bloody mess, no pun intended. Do you think he'll be good enough for the next game?" The boy beside her asked more concerned with the team's outcome, rather than James's. I found myself getting mad, ridiculously, but that didn't stop me from listening.

"I hope so; it would far too hard to find another decent Chaser before then. But he was barely able to move just a few moments ago, so I doubt it, unfortunately," she replied, brushing her hair behind her, only to reveal a bloody stained trail running down her left cheek to her next. She had probably been too caught up with James's injuries that she didn't bother to clean herself up. As I followed them, they turned to the staircase leading to the Gryffindor Tower, and only a few doors down; I knew there was the matron's office, where James was located.

Instead of doing what I should have done, instead of going up to my dormitory where I belonged, I sprinted down the corridor and into the room James was. I had expected to see him lying there on one of those beds, bandaged, moaning from the pain, typical stereotypes of what seriously injured people do, but no, when I found him there, he was doing the last thing I had expected him to. I would have expected him to tap-dance in a pink tutu with his arm hanging off before I expected him to do this.

Parchment was laid across his bed, along with quills, and the pictures he had drawn. He was working on the fairytale, the bloody fairytale! Without thinking, I ran up to the bed, and demanded, "What are you doing?!"

He looked shocked, but pleasantly surprised. "Lily?" he croaked. He was barely sitting upright, being supported by pillows.

"James, what are you doing? You're supposed to be recovering, not working on this."

"No, really, I need to do my portion of the work," he objected, reaching for the parchment. I pulled it quickly out his reach, and all of the other items cluttering his bed, before he could get to them.

"James," I scolded, my eyebrows knitting together, making how I felt about this obvious. "You can do it when you feel better, not now. I won't hold it against you, I promise."

He grinned, and then spoke, "Really, Lily, nothing hurts, I'm fine."

"I'm sure you are," I muttered, placing the jumbled mess in my hands down on a nearby table. "Now, please, for me, will you just do as you're told? Relax and recover."

"So why did you come here?" he asked, suddenly.

"What do you mean- why did I come here?"

"I mean, why did you come here? Is it because you care?" he teased, but honestly asking, for that I was sure.

"I do not care about you, Potter. I was just coming here to tell you something," I argued back, stupid, of course, now I would have to think of something to tell him.

"Oh, really?"

"I'm leaving," I announced, flushing profusely. I hastily grabbed the parchment, and made my way for the door before he called after me, his voice projecting my name wonderfully, saying it somehow, beautifully.

"And how are you going to get in the Common Room? I heard the password was changed," he said.

"What exactly are you proposing here, Potter?"

"You pick, Lily. Either sleep outside the tower tonight or in here with me. Honestly, I'd choose me," he teased. And I thought about it, alright maybe seven seconds wasn't the long, but since when were things making sense recently? Against my better judgment, I pulled up a chair to his bed –all of the other beds were full of sleeping individual who were all somehow injured-, and let my head rest upon the nightstand. "Are you sure that's comfortable?"

"Potter, I'm not climbing into the same bed as you," I replied, almost angered.

"I wasn't asking you to," he retorted, but instead pulling out a pillow behind his back and handing it back to me, "I just didn't want your wonderful mind to be uncomfortable." And then the lights turned out, as did my entire being. Was this really happening? Was I really choosing sleeping on a chair next to Potter's bed over outside the tower, on a stone floor? Was I losing my mind, completely and utterly?

This was completely out of character for me, this just didn't make sense. Since when did I care about Potter? Since when did I feel this way about him? This new feeling of delight, of happiness when I was with him. It must have been the pumpkin juice at breakfast, right? That had to be it.

_A/N: Well, I hope that wasn't too long! The reason I added this in here was because I wanted James to show Lily, how much he is dedicated to his project of theirs and to get Lily to feel these new feelings. She does have feelings for him (not love, yet), and is trying to deny them or push them away, and she doesn't know exactly what they are yet. Anyways, the story of Jacob and Lila will continue on in the next chapter. Please review and tell me what you think!_


	7. Straight and Wavy

Senses

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note- It's looooooooong, longer than anything I've written, so please review!

**Chapter Seven**

I woke to the smell of pumpkin juice and cinnamon, a pleasurable scent, yes, but it didn't erase the horror I felt when I realized what had happened last night, why exactly my head had ended up on James's side, instead of the table. He was smiling down at me, as I rose out of sleep, my eyelids fluttering, my heart picking up a faster beat.

The room had emptied of last night's other injured students, and whether they saw my current laying condition or when my head was on the night table, they'd probably be around telling everyone else all about it. I pushed that to the back of my mind though, and tried to focus on what was laid out in front of me: confrontation.

I swiftly raised my head away from James, my cheeks an obnoxious red color and whether it was from blush or not, I did not want to know. I ran my fingers through my hair quickly, improvising as I had no brush. James still sat in the same position, grinning and in other words only making these bubbling feelings inside of me nearly burst. I wanted out, out of this horrible position. A position where honestly I didn't know where I stood. A part of liked to be near Potter, hear his voice say witty things, things that impressed me, things that if others said would only annoy me. And the other part of me wanted him in a hole, him in a closet, him anywhere but near me. The part that disliked Potter, the negative, was trying to force the other, the positive, out, trying to make it go away, but the positive liked staying there, almost taunting the negative, telling it was certainly not going anywhere, anytime soon.

"Hello," he murmured, rubbing his hand over a bruise that was on his arm. He didn't say anything or hint towards how exactly I had woken up.

"Er, hi," I replied, my voice emotionless, all the emotion bouncing off the walls of my insides, instead. I looked awkwardly down at my skirt, smoothed it, and tried to find something else to occupy myself with, something to stall this upcoming conversation, a conversation I already knew the topic of.

"So did you enjoy your sleep last night?" he teased, clearly having fun with himself, finding pleasure that I had ended up sleeping next to him, even if it was only one-fourth of my body.

"Don't start, James," I mumbled, narrowing my eyes at him, perhaps hoping it'd make my assertion just a bit stronger. He simply smiled again, that stupid smile that made my heart pick up the pace rapidly, loud enough for nearly the whole castle to hear.

"Alright, alright," he replied, not wanting to drive me away, but what he didn't know was that I was stuck. I couldn't run away from him, even if I tried, and I didn't want to, either. I wanted to stay here, along with dying, because I certainly wanted that at this point. He reached over for the parchment I had taken away from him last night, struggling in the process, his eyes shut tightly together and his arm stretching as far as it could to reach it. It didn't help he was covered in bruises, and splotches of red stains.

My fingers beat him to his destination. I pulled the papers into my hands, smiled, and sat back down. "You just woke up –well we-, but wouldn't you like to have some breakfast before schoolwork?" I asked, setting the papers down in my lap, a place I knew James wouldn't venture after to get them, he had grown too much, a short time, yes, but I knew he was beyond that stage of adolescence.

"I'm not very hungry," he answered, nonchalantly, letting out a yawn in the process, though. He still managed to look gorgeous – what was happening to me, now I was calling Potter gorgeous? - with his ruffled hair, and bruises. He still managed to mangle my heart without knowing, without knowing that was my chest was starting to hurt from the all the beating it was enduring from my heart. "Besides, I'd really like to write the next chapter, since where you left of leaves readers thirsting for more, don't you think?" He asked, flashing me his teeth in the process, not helping case at all.

I narrowed my eyes again –my mother's voice, high and too protective for anyone's good, telling me that if I kept doing that with my eyes, my face would get stuck, faded away- and quickly replied, a misbelieving tone obvious through the string of my words, "Please, James."

His palms, painted in bruises and plenty of blood –his hands could easily pass for a sunburned oompa loompa-, were firmly placed on the mattress as he slowly slid his body upward, resting his back on sallow pillows. He smiled, looking weak to most, but to me, in some unfathomable way, it wasn't. Although he was obviously in pain, he acted, towards me, at least, as though nothing was wrong, that if I asked him he would run through a meadow of flowers with a broken leg, cartwheel with a broken arm, care about me with a short, fraying thread of hope. "No, but it is, though, Lily," he replied, his voice making my name sound so sweet, so important, as though I was the only Lily on the planet.

I smiled back, and I didn't know if it looked weak, looked phony, but I did and a part of me –it seemed like plenty of parts were unbalanced- didn't care, because when I was with James things like that didn't matter. How my hair looked didn't matter, if my socks matched wasn't something I thought about, but rather other things, things that scared me. For instance, why was I feeling this way about Potter? Why was I suddenly more comfortable around him than Alice? Why was he suddenly always on my mind? "Yes, I suppose it's a cliffhanger. But, you know, James, since you're recovering, I could just do the next one. It's okay; I won't hold it against you or anything."

He smiled back, -if this kept up, this constant smiling from both of us, our cheeks were going to burst-, and shook his head. He placed his hand on top of mine, it was cold and rough, and replied, "Lily, do I have to fall off another broom to convince you?"

And what I had been meaning to ask him the night before flooded back into my mind, the questions rushing into the empty space, the words bubbling on the tip of my tongue. It was obvious that James had fallen off his broom, but how he had ended up like a splattered pancake was still fuzzy to me, and certainly still bugging me to no end. "Uh," ridiculously I couldn't form coherent sentences, much less words, "how exactly did that happen, last night?"

To say he looked uncomfortable was not quite detailed enough, he looked almost ashamed, and as though why he had fallen was something he wasn't up to admitting to me. I smiled, encouragingly. I knew a bond had welded us together, a bond that was confusing and slightly angering me, and I knew James felt it too, perhaps not such to the extent as I did –he is a boy, what do you expect?-, but I hoped he could trust me, want to tell me things. I flipped our still connected hands over, my now on top, radiating warmth into his ice cube of hand, smoothing out the rough edges his hands held. "You can tell me," I said softly, trying to slip it out of him, not in a way to taunt him or anything of that sort, but because simply I wanted to know.

He sighed, relieving his stress, I suppose, or to prolong the moment, to stall. He murmured something, his voice barely audible over the silent curtains, in other words he was more like mouthing the words, and not well. I narrowed my eyes, and squeezed his hand, causing his eyes to widen considerably. "Well," he spoke up now, "I was looking for you in the crowed."

"You didn't think I would come?"

"No, I did, but…alright this is going to sound stupid, and immature, and very, well, what you called macho, but I wanted to, I suppose," his voice was growing low, and rather grim, and he started to, in some unfathomable way, cringing, "show off."

My jaw dropped, a ridiculous action, really, and my heart started to beat faster than it had ever beaten. I wish James had never told me, never told me that the reason he was bruised, and in pain was because of me, because he wanted to impress me, when in fact anything he said, really, impressed me. "Oh…oh, alright," my words came out in uneven stutters, "well, then you should start writing, right?" I glanced around the room, the putrid walls filled with blemishes and tarnished decorations blended well into one another, making me feel like I was trapped in a bowl of oatmeal. The clock caught my eye, though, and I was clearly going to be late for class. I hadn't noticed our hands were still nearly intertwined with each, but as I stood up, he looked disappointed.

"Was it something I said?" He asked, slightly teasing, but a part of me felt he was asking this regarding to his latest revelation.

"No, but I've got to get to class," I replied, nodding towards the clock, "and the chances of me making it on there if I don't leave now are slim."

James grimaced, and then twisted his hand around mine, once more. He held onto me with force, not the type that held a threat, the type that would make me worried, but rather not **wanting me to, not want** space between us. And honestly, neither did I. I was throwing everything out the window. I had given up on emotions, as they were clearly ganging up on me, whirling my thoughts into mushy beings, beings I wanted to forget. "Why don't you skip?" he suggested in all seriousness, no mocking smiles to be found anywhere on his face, no fingers crossed behind backs.

I contemplated for a second, weighing the options that laid out in front of me, but honestly there was nothing to think about. I knew my answer, knew it so well, and I could not, would not, be budged on it. My emotions may have been screwed up, but that didn't mean my common sense had to go down the toilet, too. "James, please be serious, I _need_ to go to my classes."

"Says who? We already know you're going to graduate, we already know that if you miss simply one day, _one day_, it won't matter. You can always find out what you missed from Remus," he objected, acting like a pushy businessman, trying to sell me into something that I didn't need, but wanted.

"James, what if I get caught?" I asked, sparking a whole new idea. I'd like to see him worm himself out of this problem.

"You won't and besides you could say you were feeling dizzy and that's why you are in here." I grimaced. Didn't he know that there were potions for that type of thing? Perhaps he read my mind or my face, or something, because he quickly added, "Besides Madam Pomfrey is out of the particular potion and you know it is against the rules for students to make potions. And Slughorn, well he is probably too busy swooning over your grades to give the ingredients to Madame Pomfrey. So, there you go, Lily, you won't get caught."

"But James-"

"No, it is your fault I fell," he replied, his voice light and teasing, "so this is how you can make it up to me." I gave up with an angry 'humph' and plopped back down into my seat and crossed my arms over my chest. I kept my eyes directly focused on a stain on the wall. It could be a plethora of things that caused it, potion mishaps, bloody messes, and before I could think of anymore gruesome reasons as to why the wall was tarnished, James interrupted my thoughts. Handing me parchment and a quill, he said, "I'll write, and you can just doodle, I suppose. I won't take long, I promise."

Ungracefully, I snatched the items from him, and did what he told me, not because he told me to, but rather because I didn't what else to. He smiled, and fell into the parchment, pouring everything he had in him into it. I dipped the quill into the ink that sat on the nightstand and began to aimlessly doodle lines on the paper.

Some were straight, perfect and normal, no curvy lines or small bumps interrupting their path to nowhere. And as I started to draw more lines, they turned out different, and I couldn't convert back to the straight ones as I saw what was happening. The wavy lines were uneven, the waves weren't the same size, and the line was slightly slanted in its direction. The lines described my emotions. The straight ones were how I used to be, normal, my emotions perfectly in tune to what they were supposed to be. I could detect when I was happy, when I was angry, who I disliked, and who I enjoyed, but now it was like someone had switched all their wires, like when you go to flip a light switch on and instead the shower turns on. It's completely bizarre, totally out there, and you can't control it.

The wavy lines were uneven and imperfect and that's how my emotions were now, how I felt. I didn't know if I was happy about staying here with James or if I was angry for missing class. I didn't know anything, really, except for the fact that my head was starting to hurt with all this confusion.

I let my hand dance gracefully across the parchment; I wasn't paying much attention to it, but rather the window. Fall was dwindling down, the warm sun inching closer to hibernation. I could see the trees whipping around violently, their leaves fighting in a competition to see who could last. Maybe that was what was happening to me. Maybe my emotions were whipping around violently, and I was the leave. They were testing me to see how long I would last before I would crack, before I would finally give up. But what exactly they were trying to get me to give up was unclear, something I couldn't quite understand.

I suppose I thought I was only looking out the window for ten minutes, fifteen tops, but according to James it was forty-five minutes. I still don't believe him.

"Would you like to read it?"

I nodded, and took –this time, much nicer, and not with so much anger-, the parchment. I laid it down in my lap, atop of my doodles of lines and began to read.

_Lila sat across from Jacob at the evening meal table, a table filled with elaborate items, a runner with such an detailed pattern that it must have taken nearly a century to complete, golden candlesticks holding thick vanilla scented candles, and silverware that looked to expensive to be eaten on. The table was a dark mahogany and it was rather long, but not too wide. You could easily talk quietly to the person across from you. "So tell me, Jacob," Lila scoffed at his name, -she was ready to prove his idea of her being pleasant wrong-, "how exactly did you get lost? The map my father provided was quite clear." _

_Jacob cleared his throat, smoothed his coat, all the signs of burning nervousness, and replied, "It got caught on one of the iron posts surrounding the tarn."_

_"Why would you be on that path? The path of Mount Oyalser? It's covered in nearly ten feet of snow!" _

_"I live up there," he answered softly, clearly ashamed of his living arrangements. And why wouldn't be he? Here Jacob was, in a palace of goods and desirables, and he lived in a place the size of one of the fireplaces, one of the small ones, that is. _

_"Why would you want to live up there?" Lila delved deeper into her bucket full of questions, preparing herself to expel every question that was bubbling on the tip of her tongue. She brushed a lock of hair out of her face and continued, "Are you into snow or something? It's pleasant, yes, but honestly, don't you think it is a bit much up there?" _

_Jacob's face began to heat up, moisture pouring from his skin, he looked like a sweating tomato. "I suppose I've just lived there since birth and it's just stuck with me. If you've got the right garments on it isn't quite so cold." Lila eyed his mustard yellow suit, knowing it was paper thin, and about as warm as a tissue. She didn't believe him, but rather would save that question for later. _

_"What about your family? Do they live up there with you, too?" _

_The sweat, along with the obnoxious red, drained from Jacob's face and instead was replaced with a sallow, sick-looking, very pale Jacob. That didn't faze Lila, though; she didn't notice it, really. Jacob could see that she was waiting for an answer and he was in position to refuse her one, unless of course he wanted to find himself in the nearest __guillotine. And he was breaking many rules, already. For one, he was talking openly to the princess, without the permission of the King, her father, and the blessing of the Queen, her mother. Secondly, he was sitting, a major violation in the policy of being a guard, and no less in their furniture. And the last reason, the reason that wasn't breaking a law made by the King or the Queen, or a simple polite one, but one he had made up himself a long time ago, one that he had forced himself to abide by. He wasn't to talk about his family to anyone. _

_"Well," she urged. _

_Jacob snapped out of his daze and scrambled to answer. It was lie, a one-way ticket to death, but he couldn't talk about his family, he simply couldn't. It wouldn't cause too much trouble and grief. "No, they live in Puloa, several Kingdoms away." _

_"And why don't you live with them?" Before Jacob could answer, cough up another lie, Lila's parents entered the room, along with their personal assistants. Lila rolled her eyes, it was ridiculous that they needed people to pull out chairs for them, or open doors for them. Two gangly, rather thin men scrambled to their designated corners of the room. They were wearing those disgusting yellow suits, and it didn't help their appearance, which wasn't great to begin with. _

_The King cleared his throat, a loud echo bounced off the walls, causing the chandelier to sway slightly. He was a heavyset man, with no neck, and long red beard, where Lila had obviously gotten her hair. Despite his long, flowing beard, there was no hair on his head, but that was almost always covered by his crown, an ugly yellow suit look alike, gaudy crown. It was covered in diamonds that simply didn't look very pleasant. Beside him stood his wife, Queen, Lila's mother. She was his age, yes, but didn't look so. She had white-blondish hair that sat in thick waves at her waist. Several diamond studs were present throughout her hair, as they acted like small barrettes in random places. She was thin, her figure a perfect hourglass. _

_Jacob, startled, jumped from his seat. He bowed to the floor, his head inches from the King's thick, leather boots. "Would you like to explain why you were seated in my furniture?" Lila stared wide-eyed at him, anger coursing through her veins. Usually her father was easy-going, still strict about laws and things of those sorts, but definitely not to get worked up over things like this, but he had every right to. He was violating the policy of being a guard, and he was new, which only made it worse. Jacob was coming off as he could do anything he pleased, like he waltzed into the palace and sat wherever he wanted to. _

_"I'm sorry, sir, truly I am," Jacob pleaded, his voice growing several octaves higher with each passing moment. _

_The King held up a stubby palm in his direction, a signal to simply stop talking, and answered in a cool tone, "Do not let it happen again." He nodded towards one of the guards in the corner who promptly came over and pulled out a chair for him and the Queen. They both sat down and focused their attention to Lila. Jacob had stood up and was now standing beside the door, where he was supposed to be. "Hello, Lila," the King said, smoothing his beard. _

_"Just swell," Lila answered, her voice reeking of intense sarcasm. _

_"Now, Lila, don't be disrespectful to your father," her mother said, her voice high and painfully pushy. She turned her direction to her husband and spoke, "Honestly, Deom, you need to do something about her attitude. She'll never find a husband that way." Lila grimaced at the mention of her father's first name, as it only reminded her of another reason she truly detested her life. _

_"Catara, I'm trying," Lila's father replied, causing Lila to cringe again. She was aware her parents had names that were far too original for anyone's good, and she still disliked them both, but was eternally grateful that she was placed with a rather normal name. "Besides, Lila, a young man, a year older than you, from the next Kingdom over has told his parents he finds interest in you. As he had an older brother who will take over that kingdom, this is a perfect opportunity for someone who I can trust to take my throne." _

_"Please, spare me," Lila scoffed. _

_"Lila!" Catara's voice was nearly enough to shatter all of the glass throughout the kingdom and the fact that she was shrieking certainly did not help. "You will rid of that attitude immediately! You should be married by now; you should be having babies now! And you will meet him in a few days, and you will two will be together." _

_Lila rolled her eyes, but that didn't stop the painful tug her heart felt. The last thing she wanted to do was get married, no less to a person that she didn't even get to pick. "Well, what if I don't like him? What if I don't love him?" _

_"What has love have to do with marriage?" her father demanded, his face reddening into the shade of his beard._

_Lila narrowed her eyes towards him, and spoke very acidly, "It has everything to do with it." _

"_Lila, you knock this rubbish off! You will be traveling to his kingdom tomorrow. It's a three to four day trip, and he will be escorting you," Deom pointed a chubby finger to Jacob, whose jaw had dropped, "and we will be meeting you there several days after. It will give you __plenty of time to get to know him, plenty of time to adjust to the fact that you __**are**__ marrying him." _

_"You are marrying him and there is nothing you can say or do to change that, Lila." _

I smiled, and said a quiet, "Very good. I really enjoy where you took the plot to."

"Thank you," James replied, smiling, too, "could I see it real quickly, though. I just need to add one thing."

"Oh, yeah, here," I said, handing him the paper. He took it anxiously and scribbled down a few more things. I looked back at the window and sat there were no more leaves on the tree, the tree had won. I shrugged and looked down at my parchment full of doodles.

I expected it to be full of lines, squiggly and straight, making no particular design, rather just mush, but what I did find made me wish I had never looked, never skipped class, never been born. Those lines weren't just lines that were scattered among the page but rather they made up something much worse.

There was a heart and a prominent 'J" next to it.

_A/N: Okay, for not updating in a long time, I made it long! I hope you enjoyed it! I hope Lily isn't too OCC, but she will soon recognize her feelings for James. Also Lila and Jacob will have a very interesting journey to the next kingdom to meet her future husband. Sorry for any grammar mistakes, I didn't have enough patience to reread it, because I was too excited to post it, but I will go through it later and fix it up….but if any of you have a beta thing on your profile and can read my work and get it back quickly, tell me and maybe we could work something out!_

_Also vote in my poll!!_


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